The Twelve Days of Christmas
by Musegaarid
Summary: Crowley is trying to learn about love. Eleven angels are all too happy to help.
1. Day 1

((A/N: This was co-written by Musegaarid and Serpensortia and will soon get into an M rating. Warnings for slash, het, BDSM, language, and promiscuity. Don't like, don't read. Yes, it is crack. We don't really believe angels would act this way. But it is well-written crack and consistent in its own universe, so there.))

"He went for that hooker so fassst, it was all I could do to get the paparazzi in there in time." Crowley was half sprawled on the floor, grinning, loose-limbed, and flushed with his own success. That and copious amounts of celebratory wine.

Aziraphale was slightly more composed. He was, at least, still vertical. The angel gave a tight, disapproving smile. "Explain to me again why this is an achievement, dear boy?"

Said dear boy rolled his eyes. "He's a politician. Who made a public vow of abstinence. He funded programs. And did speeches. And then was caught with a hooker." Crowley spoke slowly as if he were explaining to a child. Or as if he were incredibly drunk and having to concentrate a lot on his words, which was altogether more likely. "That takes someone with talent. A massster tempter."

The angel snorted inelegantly.

"Problem?"

"Oh, no. Just… Oh my, your glass is empty."

Crowley glared at him in a vaguely unfocused way. "Stop avoiding the question…"

With a sigh, Aziraphale sat back. "You know I can't approve of your work, but I'm afraid you may be deluding yourself if you think inciting a human to lust means that you're a master tempter. You won't understand them fully until you understand love and you'll never understand love, because, well... because of what you are."

The demon essayed a wounded expression, but he was really more indignant than hurt, and he looked more like a dead fish gaping up than either. "What do you mean?"

Aziraphale gave a condescending little smile. "I mean you won't be a master tempter until you truly understand love as opposed to base desire, and, I'm sorry to say, demons aren't equipped to understand love."

Rising unsteadily, Crowley frowned. "Oh, and high and mighty angels get it, do they? What the fuck would you lot know about love? You're jussst a bunch of bloody voyeurs. You'll watch, but participating is just too messy and real for you to handle."

"You know we're not allowed..."

"Oh, yes. I know. Thanks to your constant reminders. Convenient, isssn't it?"

"I hardly think once every couple of decades when you've had too much to drink is constant," huffed Aziraphale. "You never did stray far from your first 'forbidden fruit' trick."

Crowley frowned and sobered up with a wince. "Fuck you, Aziraphale. You're just jealous that I can have it all and you can't."

The angel gave him a cool look. "Fine, Crowley. Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you understand love and I will admit that you're a master tempter."

"I can and I will, angel," said Crowley. "Watch and learn."


	2. Day 2

They'd gotten most of the way through a rather thorough massage by the time the angel said anything, but Raphael did eventually wonder aloud at the demon's purpose for coming to him.

"Are you ever going to get around to telling me why you're really here?"

Crowley's vision was rather restricted by the massage table, or he would have tried for an innocent look. Instead, he just shrugged his bare shoulders. "I heard you were the best."

"Naturally," Raphael replied, though it was not pride that gave him confidence as much as simple knowledge that he had been created with full knowledge of all the issues of health, from medicine to meditation to massage. It had taken only a little digging on Crowley's part to find out that the archangel actually moonlighted as a massage therapist. Figures. Deny anyone sexual contact for that long, and they're bound to find some excuse to get their hands on an oiled, naked body.

He _was_ indecently good at it, though.

"It's just that," Raphael continued thoughtfully, skilled fingers working Crowley's lumbar region, "I still don't get many demons ringing for late afternoon appointments."

"And since I'm a demon, I must have an ulterior motive?" Crowley finished dryly.

"Fair enough." For a moment, he thought the archangel would drop the issue; his hands continued to work delicately through knots of tension that Crowley hadn't even known he'd had. Then Raphael remarked, "But if you don't come out with it soon, I'm going to have to charge you for the full hour."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "All right, all right." The soft white sheet which had thus far maintained his decency slid artfully down one hip as he shifted to sit upright on the table.

"I just... had a question." He averted his eyes shyly, and considered a faint flush before writing it off as too much. Raphael may have been open-minded as angels go, but he'd still see through anything too blatant. "Something I've been wondering about lately."

"Oh?" The archangel settled himself next to the demon on the table, crossing his legs; he was wearing jeans with a fashionably ragged hole in one knee, and a t-shirt with some Sanskrit bullshit about peace scrawled across the chest. His eyes were dark and wide as he regarded the demon with a hint of compassion behind the curiosity. Crowley couldn't have asked for a better performance. He'd gotten close enough to the angel to see that Raphael was wearing dark eyeliner, and he'd barely had to ask.

"Do you think... do you think it's possible for a - a demon to still feel love?" Stilted, unsure, and then, just on cue, he drew his eyes up to meet the angel's.

Something shifted in Raphael's expression, his curiosity turning into an almost clinical interest. "Love?" He made a thoughtful sound. "A demon in love... well, that's all you were once, isn't it? Love. So I suppose it could be possible." He paused a beat, eyes narrowed upon Crowley. "Why do you ask?"

The demon shrugged again, willing himself to look lost and just a little forlorn. "Just... wondered. It's not important."

"Not important?" Raphael looked genuinely interested. "Love usually is..."

"Well, I just..." Crowley shook his head. Angels always fell for the vulnerable look. "Do you think you could help me?"

"Help you?"

"Help me remember." Crowley turned, bringing his face quite near the angel's. Raphael smelled of the same sweet mix of sandalwood and vanilla as his aromatherapy candles which burned cheerily all around them, giving a burnt orange glow to the angel's already tan skin.

"Crowley..." Raphael's lips nearly brushed the demon's as he spoke his name.

"Hmm?"

"I..." But the demon silenced him with the softest of kisses, perfect and sweet, honed by thousands of years of practice.

Raphael held his own quite well, really.

Crowley moved one hand to the archangel's knee, and was delighted when Raphael reciprocated with a hand on his shoulder - that is, until he realized that the archangel was pushing him away. He feared the worst until he saw that Raphael was actually grinning at him.

"I think it might just be possible, yes." With that, the angel stood, and set about gathering up the tools of his supposed trade.

"Wait. You can't - "

"Ever hopeful, demon," Raphael said with another bright smile. "That's the only way you'll find what you're looking for."

And then Raphael had disappeared. Crowley cursed and set about putting his clothes back on.


	3. Day 3

The phone rang ineffably just as Crowley was stepping out of the shower. Not bothering with a towel, he snatched up the cell and snapped it open. If it was a telemarketer, Adam help them…

"What?" he demanded irritably.

"Hey, kid. It's been a long time. How's tricks?"

That voice… A feeling of distant familiarity prickled across his bare skin. Along with a distinctly different sensation. "Who is this?"

"Oh, well, that's all wet. You don't recognize your old pal Haniel?"

The demon's eyes went wide as he stared unseeingly at the water he was dripping onto the pristine carpet. Haniel - Archangel of Passionate Love and Chief of the Virtues. Crowley's old supervisor, so to speak.

"Haniel? But…?"

"I'm aces, dollface, thanks for asking."

Aziraphale had told him once that Haniel had gotten stuck somewhere in the mid-1930s. It seemed funny at the time. Now the demon was imagining him standing in an old-fashioned phone booth wearing a grey suit with wide shoulders and a narrow waist; a matching fedora tipped over the dark eye, and it really wasn't funny anymore.

"So, uh, to what do I owe the," _dear someone_, "pleasure?"

"I'm hearing things, sweetheart. A crumb asking about love. Doesn't take a genius to figure out who."

Haniel had always had a unique effect on the beings around him. It went with the function, or that was the rumor, anyway. Basically, listening to him speak was a sensation akin to someone taking that silky voice and threading it right through Crowley's spine.

He had a choice, then. He could try to end this quickly and attempt to avoid everything going pear-shaped, as it no doubt would, or…

"You heard right." Maybe he could learn something to his advantage.

Crowley could somehow hear the angel's smile. "Well, now, there's a thing. Let me just think about this a mo. You know the Big Guy is a little close-mouthed about the whole kabob."

He squirmed. The longer Haniel spoke, the more interest Crowley's 'Big Guy' was taking in the conversation.

"See, far as we knew, that was your breaks. Part and parcel of the fink gig. But you asking has got me wondering. You wouldn't make a trip for biscuits, so maybe it's not a hard and fast deal."

It had Crowley thinking, too. It had Crowley thinking that Haniel should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to say 'hard and fast' to anyone in that particular tone unless he was fully prepared to deal with the consequences.

"Tell you what. Let me get the low down. I'll shake a leg and let you know what I dig. But I'll wait 'til you're togged up, shall I?"

The demon froze, hand halfway to his kabob.

"You're a pip," came the amused voice. "Abyssinia, Crowley."

His _name_. In _that_ voice. That was all it took.

"Shit."

There was a click on the line and a mess on his carpet and he hadn't learned a fucking thing.


	4. Day 4

"But... I don't understand," Remiel said, sounding somewhat helpless in light of his recent assignment.

"Well," Crowley said, "you're the angel of hope, aren't you? Sounds like exactly the angel I was hoping to see." He thought better of going into the details of just what he was hoping for and simply flashed the angel his most genial of serpentine smiles.

Remiel didn't seem to be listening, however; he was perusing the details of his latest assignment again, muttering to himself. "Mayfair... Adams Row... No, this is the right place. But you're - you're a de - "

"Devilishly handsome bloke? Why, Remiel, you're too kind. Why don't you have a seat? I'll just go and pour us some wine..." Crowley indicated the pristine expanse of his white leather couch - part of next year's collection, he didn't mind pointing out - and made his way into the kitchen to open that old bottle of Chateau Lafite that that he'd suddenly been saving up for a special occasion.

Remiel was perched somewhat uncomfortably on the couch when Crowley returned with two glasses of wine in hand. He ran both hands through his golden curls, a somewhat agitated gesture, before looking up at the approaching demon and accepting the glance Crowley offered him. Crowley settled on the couch next to him, turned to face the angel amiably over his wineglass.

Remiel glanced over the demon from the corner of his eye. "So... you're my assignment?"

"It would appear," Crowley replied nonchalantly, "judging by that."

He nodded toward Remiel's pocket; the angel look vaguely scandalized until he realized that Crowley had been referring to the note that he'd stuffed in his pocket. He promptly dug it out and glanced at again, as though it might have changed in the last few minutes. Behind the shield of dark glasses, Crowley rolled his eyes.

Remiel made a thoughtful noise. "Well... what were you hoping to see me for, exactly?"

Crowley's pleasant smile curved into an almost predatory grin. "Well, since you asked..."

But Remiel's eyes had narrowed, his attention snatched away by something over Crowley's shoulder. The demon frowned, turning to see what had worried the angel, but before he could say anything, the angel of hope had leaped up and all but scampered over the the sleek dark shelves that housed Crowley's CD collection.

"You have all of the Velvet Underground albums?" the angel said, a hint of awe in his voice, as he reached unerringly for an album with a stylized banana on the cover. Crowley arched a brow curiously, giving a slightly confused affirmation. "I don't suppose we could... ?" the angel began, and then dropped off, looking sheepish.

Crowley grinned, and with a gesture, the top-of-the-line sound system booted up and the first strains of _Here She Comes Now_ spilled into the room. Remiel, like Crowley, didn't seem to notice that there were no speakers to be found in the room, yet the music poured forth in crystal clear strains from every corner.

"Nice," Remiel commented, and his delighted smile matching Crowley's mischievous grin.

"Now, Remiel," Crowley said, "I don't suppose you like Queen?"

The angel's eyes went wide.

They'd gone through half of the 70s glam movement (not to mention half of the bottle of wine) before Crowley dared to take Remiel's hand and tug the angel up off the couch. "You know, you're not getting the full experience if you're not dancing."

The angel was actually a passable dancer, which somewhat surprised Crowley; the demon was, after all, accustomed to Aziraphale's sterile gavotte. Though his movements didn't have the practiced finesse of Crowley's, he had an innate grace that allowed him to keep up with the smooth twists and turns of Crowley's hips. It was almost... fun. Yet, as they danced, Crowley didn't lose sight of his goal in the matter. His movements brought him closer and closer to the angel, brushing against him where it seemed most natural; until, at the perfect swell in the music, Crowley kissed him.

Remiel started, but seemed to be more surprised than anything else. "What are you doing?" he asked when his lips were free enough to do so.

"Finding hope in bleakest times," the demon murmured, something heavy and sensual in his voice. "That's your function, isn't it, angel?"

"Well..." Remiel glanced down when he realized that Crowley had backed him up against the sleek black coffee table. "Finding hope?" he echoed.

"Oh yes," Crowley said, showing lavish attention to the angel's left ear. "I'm feeling very hopeful."

David Bowie was crooning something about getting to Heaven while going down as Crowley urged the angel back against the table. Remiel was enticingly warm beneath his hands, in a way no mortal ever could be, and Crowley made short work of his own jacket and black tie before settling himself over the angel. He covered the pale face and throat with rough kisses. The angel responded with a faint groan, hands on Crowley's hips as he guided the demon closer. Crowley was both surprised and pleased at this show of willingness. At the edge of his vision, he could see his movements reflected back at him in the glass table top as he shifted against the angel, an exhilarating friction between them. Blessed Haniel, anyway. This was going to be much more gratifying...

Crowley shifted, until he could get one hand between them, stroking the angel's torso, drawing patterns up and down his rib cage with gentle fingers, until he'd worked his way down to the clasp of Remiel's trousers. Remiel responded in kind, though his hands were somewhat more timid as he reached up to find Crowley's waistband.

Suddenly, Remiel froze.

"Crowley, wait."

Crowley pulled back just far enough to give Remiel a questioning look, not relinquishing any of the weight that had the angel pinned to the coffee table. "Yess?"

"I've got to go."

"What?"

"I've got to go. I mean, I... I can just tell. I've got a new assignment."

"New. Assignment?" Crowley asked flatly, barely keeping his annoyance in check.

Remiel squirmed, managing to work his slender hips out from under the demon's weight, and slid his legs over one side of the table. He rose, one hand on the waist of his loose trousers.

"You - you really have to go?" Crowley sounded a bit desperate, even to his own ears; but then, with his heart racing and his still clothed erection pressed against an unyielding coffee table, frustration seemed a rather reasonable reaction.

"Hardly seems fair, does it? Anyway, thanks for the wine."

The sound of the door closing behind Remiel was echoed by the unamused thud of Crowley's head against the table top. "Fucking angels."


	5. Day 5

Sightless green eyes looked in the direction of blank lenses.

"I always thought that whole 'Justice is blind' thing was a metaphor," Crowley blurted out.

"It is," replied Raguel calmly. "It's also true."

"Huh."

_Way to kill the mood… _the demon thought, but it had been something of a shock to walk into the modest office lined with tidy books and find a blind archangel. But he could surely still seduce someone without them actually seeing him. He just needed to adjust his methods slightly.

"So you're a solicitor?" he asked, modulating his voice so that it was deeper and softer.

Raguel smiled. "A defense attorney. I protect the innocent in court."

Crowley snorted from the depths of his comfortable chair. "You must not get many clients."

"You'd be surprised." The angel rose and walked easily around his desk, loosening his necktie. "There are levels of guilt."

"What does that matter?" Crowley shrugged. "Guilt means we get them."

"Not necessarily. Guilt was designed so that people would know when what they've done is wrong. It's simply a trigger for repentance. Some can and do choose to ignore that, but not all do." By the time he'd stopped speaking, Raguel was standing directly behind Crowley's chair. "And some of them need some sort of appropriate punishment before they're ready to repent."

"That's coercion," Crowley began to argue before his glasses were swiftly pulled off and a silk necktie dropped over his eyes, tightening in the back. "What the fuck?!"

He brought his hands up, but they were caught and held.

"Justice is blind. If you wish to understand, so must you be." Raguel's tone and grip were unyielding, but the kiss on the top of Crowley's head was gentle. Crowley stopped struggling.

"But, I don't, I mean, what am I…?"

"Silence, demon." Raguel waited until Crowley complied before releasing the demon's hands and trailing his own down Crowley's chest.

Unable to see, it took some time before Crowley realized that the angel wasn't just caressing him, but slowly unbuttoning his shirt and parting the fabric. The office air was cool against his bare, heated skin and he shivered when those warm hands were removed entirely.

Making the beginnings of a noise of protest, the demon was cut off by a low warning sound from Raguel, so he fell still and waited, feeling uncertain, helpless, and utterly turned on. Especially when a minute or so later, something soft trailed across the sensitive skin of Crowley's throat.

"Ngk."

It wasn't Raguel's hand, and it wasn't a handkerchief and Crowley couldn't figure out what else it could be, although the sensations it engendered were delicious. The object drifted across his chest and abdomen randomly, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Crowley's skin felt hypersensitive, hot and cold. When it was taken away, he craved it desperately and when it was on him, he had to struggle to keep his dignity by not moaning or leaning forward for more contact. He wasn't always successful.

Eventually, the demon realized that while the blindfold certainly made things more spontaneous – he had no idea where Raguel was at any given time, nor what he would do next – it had a rather pleasant side effect. It was a cliché that taking away one sense would heighten the others, but in this case it was cliché for a reason. At some point, Crowley discovered that under his own ragged breathing, he could hear Raguel's deep, steady breaths, along with the rustle of cloth when he moved. The room smelled of books, but not like at Aziraphale's shop. Much cleaner. These were books to be used, not savoured. He could also smell wood polish and coffee, and something else yet; something fresh and pristine that had to emanate from the angel.

The angel who was currently undoing his zip.

It happened as slowly as his shirtcloth had been opened, which felt like the movement of tectonic plates in the demon's excited state, but made him feel far more exposed. Crowley wasn't wearing any underpants, so his rather impressive erection was suddenly fully visible to the world. Only Raguel couldn't see it, could he? Which meant he had to…

Crowley's head thumped against the back of his chair as the angel wrapped a hand around his cock. There was a low rumble, like Raguel was chuckling, but the demon didn't care. As tight and keyed up as he was, it would only take a few strokes to get him to completion. That warm hand was sliding up and down his shaft with expert precision and the pressure was building when there was a sudden harsh buzz and a female voice coming from the speakerphone on Raguel's desk.

"Mr. Guel," she pronounced it 'jewel', "your three-fifteen appointment is here."

"Thank you, Maddie. Give me two minutes and send him in."

Crowley made a choking noise as the tie was removed from his eyes just as swiftly as it had been placed there and knotted back around Raguel's throat. Raguel fastened all of Crowley's buttons as he lay motionless in the chair and finished by placing the sunglasses back on his nose.

"I'm sorry, Crowley. Maybe next time." He handed the demon a long, gleaming white feather that smelled both of Heaven and the demon's skin. "Remember, justice is blind, but that doesn't mean it cannot _see_."

Gently pushed out the door, Crowley stumbled to his car and laid his fevered cheek against the cool window.

"Motherfucker…"


	6. Day 6

"All I'm asking," Crowley said slowly, "is if you think you're likely to be... interrupted. In the next hour or so. Or even half an hour. Fifteen minutes, tops."

The angel Sariel didn't look up. Of course he hadn't, really, since Crowley had come into his art gallery, a small shop situated in the trendiest part of town; the angel's focus was on his small sketch pad, where his pen picked out the stark lines of faces, purely from memory. Or perhaps he'd made them up - surely the angel of divine inspiration had to be comfortable with fiction by now.

"Fifteen minutes?" the angel replied. "Are you in quite a hurry, demon?"

"You have no idea," Crowley muttered.

Sariel glanced up for the first time, dark eyes prominent among sharp features. "You see, I was hoping you might pose for me."

"Pose for you?" Crowley arched a brow.

"You really do have nice cheek bones," the angel said, his eyes wandering back to his current work, lingering only briefly over some of Crowley's other nice assets on the way. His pen moved smoothly, ink bleeding into the thick sketch paper.

Crowley slipped off his jacket, getting to his feet. "Where do you want me?" he asked, the casual question dripping with suggestion.

"There's a studio in the back," Sariel replied, getting to his feet as well. "It will afford a bit more privacy, I'm sure."

"Why? Is this the part where you tell me you're only into painting nudes?"

"Our Lord created the human form. It was man who deigned to cover it up."

Crowley blinked. Then, grinning, he set about unbuttoning his shirt as he followed Sariel into the back room.

It looked much like the quintessential art studio, blank canvases piled about, more pens and paint strewn about than stacked away neatly in the cupboards, and of course, perfect white light filtering in from wide windows. Almost every surface was ingrained with stains of color and ink, including the black stool to which Sariel gestured.

Crowley slipped off shoes, socks and trousers quite unabashedly. "You know, the last artist I posed for made quite a name for himself," he said, noticing that the angel was watching him rather intently, head tilted thoughtfully. Sariel didn't seem about to ask who that had been so Crowley continued. "Most people would still call him a genius, really, da Vinci."

"Genius," Sariel murmured, though the demon wasn't even sure he'd been listening. It occurred to Crowley that perhaps all of the years of inspiration and prophesying had left the angel the slightest bit unhinged. Not that the demon blamed him. The most popular prophecies always seemed to go into explicit detail about the end of the world, and that had to be wearing after a while. He wondered vaguely if Sariel had been friends with Agnes Nutter.

The black silk boxers were the last thing to be removed; Crowley reached for his sunglasses, but Sariel's ink-stained fingers closed about his wrist. "Leave them," he commanded gently, and guided Crowley back to the stool.

Once seated, the angel walked a circle around the demon, looking him over. The attention didn't bother Crowley in the least, except that it seemed disappointingly professional. Sariel was murmuring to himself about light and shadow and touched his pen to his lips thoughtfully a few times before he finally said, "Are you ready?"

_Bit late for niceties, isn't it? _ "Ready when you are, angel."

Sariel smiled dreamily.

Crowley had expected him to retreat back across the room, and had rather been looking forward to the image of an angel in a paint-stained smock and stupid beret intently copying his body onto a canvas in light and shadow. It appealed rather delightfully to the demon's ego, after all. But instead, Sariel swept his pen in a graceful arc along the curve of Crowley's shoulder, leaving a black line of ink bleeding into Crowley's skin.

"What are you doing?"

"Making art," the angel replied. "It's not often I have the perfect canvas volunteer..."

Crowley watched as the angel continued the line down his arm, stopping just before his elbow. He then turned Crowley's arm over, exposing the pale wrist, and drew another sweeping curve along his forearm. The dark ink stood out sharply and made Crowley's tanned skin seem pale ivory in contrast. Sariel seemed content with obscure shapes and lines, and rarely did Crowley recognize anything that the angel drew. But steadily, he filled up on arm, and moved around to the flat plane of the demon's back.

The pen was much different than any other touch; it was not gentle, and even stung at times where it dragged on sensitive skin. But the smell of ink filled his senses, dark and warm, and the experience was uniquely sensual in its way. It made Crowley shudder to have Sariel draw on the pillar of his throat, along his inner arm, and the serpentine line that followed his spine.

"It's not about who sees it, you know," the angel said lightly as it worked. "It's not about making your mark and having part of you live forever. Art is like love. It doesn't mean anything if it doesn't come from the heart."

Crowley shuddered, as the angel had chosen that moment to do a sweeping circle around the peak of one nipple. The angel had to have noticed by now that the indistinct sensations of his drawing were having their own rather profound effect on Crowley, but he said nothing of it. The desire ached oddly in Crowley's abdomen: not its usual tight coil, because there had not been enough constant stimulation to trigger it, but the experience of seeing - _feeling_ - his body become the angel's masterpiece was profoundly erotic.

Sariel became oddly silent as he finished the expanse of Crowley's chest and sank slowly downward. The caress of his free hand accompanied his pen now, as though he were feeling out the canvas as much as seeing it. He stroked Crowely's thigh, almost encouraging, and then urged it outward, exposing Crowley's cock and the evident effects of the distinctly downward rush of blood that the demon was experiencing. The angel's attention, however, stayed on Crowley's thigh, his stylistic markings setting Crowley on edge. The demon's hands clamped around the edges of the stool, and Crowley found himself very much on the verge of begging.

Blessed angels with their kinks and their quirks and their _damnable_ timing and why couldn't one of them just -

Almost as an afterthought, Sariel's hand closed lightly around Crowley's cock.

All decorum lost, Crowley gasped, squirming in his seat. He didn't know whether it was the frustration of the past few days or the extended foreplay of ink and art, but he found himself utterly desperate for Sariel's touch.

"I should thank you, Crowley." He could feel the angel's breath on his inner thigh. "You've been a very nice subject for me today."

"Ngk," was all Crowley could manage.

Sariel gave him another of his dreamy smiles. Crowley thought that the moment he felt the angel's lips on the base of his cock, he would lose it, but instead it was a dizzying spiral of sexual tension. Sariel's tongue moved as masterfully over the hot length of Crowley's erection as his pen had across his skin. The demon knew it wouldn't take much for him to finish, and that seemed to give him as much apprehension as pleasure.

_Any minute now. A phone call, a page, a message brought by carrier pigeon... dear someone, if he stops now..._

But he didn't. Sariel's lips closed around him, warmth and wet engulfing his cock, and every muscle in Crowley's body tensed as one. His hands were locked desperately around the stool now, as though were he to let go, the whole thing would come undone, and he'd be left once more achingly incomplete. The angel was stroking his thighs, fingers smearing the patterns he'd so carefully sketched there, as his mouth moved around Crowley's cock.

In one instant he was pressing deeper into that willing mouth; and in the next, it was too much. Crowley came with a cry torn from his throat by his own (long awaited) release, a feral sound. Without Sariel's steadying hands, he likely would have toppled from his precarious position. But the shuddering waves passed over him gradually, his heart slowing from its reckless pace, and Crowley breathed a satiated sigh.

_"Fuck."_

This time, when he cursed, it was without an ounce of frustration.


	7. Day 7

Crowley found him at the Oxford Botanical Garden, halfway up a Red Oak, bark brown hair falling into moss coloured eyes. Looking up certainly afforded a nice view of jumpsuited arse.

"What brings you here?" Jeliel called down.

"Got a bonsai that needs help," yelled Crowley back, holding up a tiny, bent juniper. "It's not responding to threats."

Jeliel climbed down, unhitching his safety gear and stepping out of the contraption.

"Come to my office, then."

The office turned out to be a greenhouse for botany experiments away from the public part of the garden. They discussed the various projects for a while, both speaking knowledgeably and technically about the subject before conversation turned back to the poor plant.

"And you say your attempt to stunt its growth physically through stunting it emotionally isn't working?" the angel inquired.

Crowley shook his head. "I've caught it inching toward open windows. And it's not taking care of itself no matter how many of its peers I put down the disposal. Look at the needle droppage…"

Jeliel laughed like the wind in the leaves. "I think you've succeeded all too well. You've stunted it so greatly, it has lost its will to live. Perhaps you inadvertently destroyed its life partner amongst the other plants?"

"What does the angel of trees know about a life partner?" Crowley asked, surprised.

"Angel of trees and marital fidelity," corrected Jeliel with a smile.

"Marital… what? When did _that_ happen?"

"Oh, quite a while ago. I'm not sure why I was chosen, but I don't question Him."

Crowley made a wry face. "Of course you don't." Damn. He might as well have picked the angel of chastity for where this was going to go.

Jeliel gave the demon an odd look. "Crowley, you already know what's wrong with your bonsai. Why are you really here?"

With the mad smile of someone who knows that what he's about to do is very stupid, Crowley sauntered over and said in his best seductive tone, "I heard you'd been doing some experimentation out here, and I was wondering if you needed someone to help stimulate your stamen."

"Stimulate my…?" but Jeliel's response was cut off when he abruptly crushed his lips against the demon's. Said demon was understandably shocked.

"What? But…?" Crowley sputtered.

"Anything to keep you from saying that again," the angel grinned.

Crowley gave an evil smirk. "So if I were to say something about the benefits of cross-pollination…"

This time, Crowley was pushed against a glass wall as Jeliel leapt up and wrapped his legs around the demon's waist like a creeper vine around an elegant elm. Their tongues twined together.

It wasn't until Crowley had left a series of red marks down the angel's neck and had pushed the top half of the tan jumpsuit off Jeliel's shoulders to toy with his nipples, that he paused a moment. He'd undertaken this challenge as a lark, but he didn't really want to be responsible for an angel acting against his function.

"Whatever happened to marital fidelity?" Crowley asked, panting against Jeliel's damp skin. The angel's earthy smell was incredibly appealing and the demon was nuzzling his chest as he waited for an answer. He could stop, if he had to, but he really, really hoped he wouldn't have to.

But Jeliel just laughed again. "Neither of us is married, Crowley."

That was really much more of a turn-on than it was probably intended to be. Although one could never tell with angels.

Crowley exhaled shakily and vanished all their clothes. "Then let me show you the span of my filament…"

In the struggle to shut Crowley's mouth, both angel and demon ended up rolling across the dirt floor. "You know," said Jeliel thoughtfully as his shoulder blades dug into the ground, "there's no actual prohibition against horrible botanical pillow talk, but I'm considering making it a punishable offense."

"You're just jealous," Crowley retorted from his position atop the angel, "of the superior nature of my anthers."

Jeliel shook his head. "So you say. I have yet to see the results of your experiment…"

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley brushed his prominent filament against Jeliel's. "If it's proof you're after, perhaps you'd consider collecting some of my pollen to test your hypothesis."

The angel's only response was a bucking of his hips. This encouragement was all Crowley needed to press his cock to Jeliel's entrance and slide into the soft warmth. Trailing his hands over the angel's strong torso, Crowley pushed forward, falling into a simple rhythm as Jeliel matched him thrust for thrust. The friction and heat built between them as Jeliel's hands drew organic designs in the soil.

As the pressure mounted, the demon smiled down at his willing partner. "I think it's safe to say…"

But Jeliel interrupted breathlessly. "If it has anything to do with plants, trees, or nature, so help me I will get up and leave right this second."

Crowley adjusted his angle slightly, lifting the angel's legs and causing him to cry out. "That's not very encouraging," Crowley grumbled. Despite yesterday's success, he'd had more than enough of angels _leaving_ by now.

Jeliel pulled him in and _squeezed_. With a great shout, the demon came without warning, the earthy smell overwhelming his senses, and fell atop the prone angel.

"Shit," Crowley wheezed, sated.

"Makes great compost," Jeliel agreed.


	8. Day 8

"So you're responsible for all the human interest features about rescuing cats stuck up trees, are you?"

Jophiel just smiled. "I don't _make_ the news, Crowley. That's not my function. Besides, you've done quite enough of that for both of us lately, I think."

Crowley gave a proud smirk, leaning back in his chair, before his expression turned wry. "Right. So I'm sure you're being just 'one of the gang' doesn't influence the content of the paper at all."

"We're all allowed to exert our influence," the angel said quite neutrally. "The final choice is still theirs to make."

"Is that why you didn't make yourself editor-in-chief? Too obvious, eh?"

"I didn't make myself anything. I started here like everyone else, fetching lunch orders and writing blurbs about births and weddings."

"They just saw your supernatural talent for knowing everything under the stars and promoted you."

"We're all allowed to exert our influence," Jophiel repeated. His smile grew this time, a row of perfect white teeth standing out against dark skin. He, too, sat back rather casually in his chair; though he was dressed professionally in slacks and a collared shirt, his clothing was a bit rumpled, as though he'd already been in the office for quite some time. "Is there a particular reason you dropped by, demon? I do have deadlines looming..."

"Just had something I wanted to run by you. Knowing your propensity for Truth and all." Crowley gave the angel a reptilian grin.

"Oh?"

"Say all of your kind - and I don't mean journalists - were to take a sudden... _interest_ in someone down here. What would that mean, would you say?"

Jophiel looked sober, as though he were truly considering the question from all angles. "You mean... like the Virgin Mary or someone?"

Crowley choked on his own laughter, though an amused hiss did escape. _Dear someone, what did Gabriel get up to during that Annunciation?_ "Er, not quite what I had in mind..."

"What are you referring to, then?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've gotten wind of the general idea by now."

"I do have my sources." The corner of the angel's mouth twitched. "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to disclose just anything."

"Is that the journalistic integrity speaking, or the angelic? Because let me tell you, from what I've seen of both of those..."

"What is it that brings you here, Crowley?"

For a moment, the dark eyes seemed somehow mesmerizing, and Crowley found almost compelled to speak the truth: His encounters with angels over the past six days had left him with the distinct impression that Something was going on, and he was beginning to wonder just what he'd jumped into. It was a struggle, but Crowley managed not to ask outright. He'd had too much practice with deception for that.

Jophiel got to his feet, wandering around the desk; Crowley was reminded abruptly of Raguel and stiffened. The angel made no move but to lean casually against the desk, tilting his head with a very convincing expression of interest. Crowley would have to remember that one...

"Sometimes," Jophiel said softly, "truth is important, demon. That's why I do my best to ensure that it's spelled out in black and white on the front page. But sometimes... sometimes we aren't quite sure of the ground beneath our feet. And sometimes that's better."

Crowley looked skeptical. "So what you're saying is... no comment?"

The angel smiled again; Crowley was beginning to find it an infuriatingly enigmatic expression. "You could look at it that way."

"Are you going to ask me how that makes me feel, next?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." Jophiel leaned in, kissed Crowley's lips lightly. The demon wanted to argue, to be contrary, but he knew that would be useless. The truth was, his body was responding quite willingly already. Maybe it didn't matter what was going on if the other side was going to keep this up...

Crowley reached up, one hand catching at Jophiel's shirt collar as the other smoothed across the plane of the angel's arched back. He'd fully intended to take the lead in their intimate dance, but Jophiel seemed to have his own ideas about that. He guided Crowley from the chair and undid the demon's trousers, one hand cupping the length of Crowley's half-erect cock as they kissed.

Crowley could see all the flurry of a busy newsroom outside the office window; no one else seemed to notice the demon's pleasure as Jophiel sank to his knees, lips and tongue teasing the demon's cock. Crowley shuddered.

The warmth didn't last for long, though, and Jophiel was soon on his feet again. Crowley was about to protest the abrupt end to the attention when the angel grasped his shoulder and urged him to turn around. Tension buzzed in every limb as Crowley heard the sound of the angel taking down his own trousers. There was silence that stretched on for far too many eternities; and then the angel reached around him, his hand finding the demon's erection once more. He felt the angel's own cock pressing against his entrance, teasing, and groaned. He didn't even care that the edge of the desk bit into his thighs as Jophiel began to ease into him, achingly slow. The angel filled him, though his body accepted the length willingly.

Their rhythm was steady; Jophiel was constant, did not let Crowley quicken their pace, despite how the demon pressed back against him. His grasp on the demon's cock changed, however, the pressure growing, building up somewhere deep in Crowley's abdomen, until finally, with a gasping cry, Crowley came with his face pressed to the polished mahogany of the desktop.

The demon simply slumped against the desk for the moment, unthinking. By the time Crowley straightened up, Jophiel had already done up his trousers. Crowley realized he hadn't even been aware of the angel's completion. But Jophiel said nothing of it, simply rounding the desk to return to his seat. He looked no more rumpled than he had when Crowley'd arrived.

"'In this world, those who seek the truth will also find trouble...'" Jophiel straightened the cuff of his shirt. "Now if you'll excuse me, demon, I really do have a deadline to meet."


	9. Day 9

Jerked awake when restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles and pulled him spread-eagle to the corner posts of his own bed, Crowley stared blearily at the radiant figure standing a few feet away.

"Wha…?"

"Silence, demon!"

A squint. "Michael?"

"Saint Michael the Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Hosts, Defeater of Satan, Chief of the Powers, Prince of Angels, Warrior of God, and Defender of His People. And do not speak unless I give you permission to do so. This is your last warning."

Still half asleep, the little speech didn't register. "Warning…?" But that was as far as he got before he found a gag in his mouth.

"I did not give you permission to speak."

Crowley's sickly serpentine eyes went wide, gleaming in the dim light. He was afraid, certainly. He was no match for an angry archangel. But being nude, prone, and helpless like this, well... it was sort of exciting, too. His cock twitched visibly. Knowing he could miracle the restraints away, he wondered what would happen if he did.

"You're wondering what would happen if you removed the restraints," said Michael. Crowley stared at him, unable to do much more. "You can, if you wish. My sword has not tasted the blood of a demon for some years now…"

That answered that question.

"Now you will tell me what in Heaven's name you think you're doing."

"Mrpgh?"

Michael irritably waved the gag away.

"What on God's green earth makes you think you can sleep with half the Host?"

Crowley hesitated. The archangel began to draw his sword slowly. The sharp sound echoed. Contrarily, Crowley got harder. "Because they let me?" he tried. It wasn't the most helpful thing he could have said and he was punished by a stinging slap to the thighs with the sheathed sword.

"Lying filth! You coerced them somehow. What was it? False promises? Declarations of love?"

"My quick wit and debonair charm?" Crowley offered with a smug smirk. Danger should not be this arousing…

Michael didn't smile. His sword fell across the demon's nipples with a resounding smack. Pink and burning, they raised to little nubs, chafed by the hard, worn leather of the scabbard. Crowley groaned, trying to bring his arms in to protect his chest, but they were held fast. His wrists and shoulders were starting to burn.

"You will answer me with 'Yes, Michael' or 'No, Michael'. Do you understand?"

Crowley glared mutinously at him. The next blow was low on his abdomen, near the tip of his already glistening cock.

"Do you understand?" the angel repeated.

"Yes, Michael," Crowley spat, sarcastically.

"Did you tell Remiel you loved him?"

"No, Michael."

_Crack._

"Did you tell Raguel you loved him?"

"No, Michael."

_Snap_.

"Did you tell Sariel you loved him?"

"No, Michael."

_Thump_.

"Did you tell Jeliel you loved him?"

"No, Michael."

_Whack_.

"Did you tell Jophiel you loved him?"

Crowley winced. "Yes, Michael."

_Stroke_.

"Say it again."

"Yes, Michael."

"So the tongue is not always forked. He can be… encouraged… to be truthful."

Crowley's torso was crossed with stinging red welts. Every nerve was on fire. Every joint ached. He was harder than he'd ever been in his long life.

"You do not deserve any of the attention you have been granted by any of the Heavenly Host."

"Yes, Michael. I mean, no, Michael."

"You are nothing special."

"No, Michael."

"Just a slutty little snake."

"Yes, Michael."

"Then you deserve no more of my time. I am convinced you deceived them and this is your just punishment." The angel turned to leave.

"No, Michael," came a faint voice from the bed.

Michael stopped, swiveled and in one fluid movement drew his sword so that the sharp edge lay across Crowley's throat. The demon's heart beat frantically in his chest: angelic steel cold against his burning skin.

"Did you say something, demon?" the archangel demanded.

"Touch me," Crowley whispered.

Michael's face went stony. "Give me one reason I shouldn't just kill you now."

"Please…"

The shining face drew nearer and Crowley had to squint against the light.

"Beg me," Michael snarled.

"Please. Touch me, please, Michael. Fuck, Michael, please!"

Michael's hand wrapped around Crowley's dick. With no further effort, the demon's taut body bucked and seized as he came spectacularly across his chest.

As the angel wiped his hand off on Crowley's sheets with a disgusted look, Crowley caught his breath and gasped, "Jesus Christ…"

Michael glared murderous daggers at him. "Don't even _think_ about it."


	10. Day 10

He really didn't mean for it to happen again.

After all, it would be stupid, what with the archangel Michael having broken into his flat last night just to smack him around a little, right? It would hardly be apropos - would almost certainly be dangerous - to seek out another angel, after that.

But surely, Crowley had thought, _surely_, if the Universe or Someone in it was trying to get a message across to him, the Messenger would know about it.

"I'm sorry, Mister Crowley, but Gabriel's out."

"Out?"

Dobiel nodded. Crowley found it interesting that of all the angels posing as professionals he'd come across so far, Gabriel was the only one who had another angel standing in as his secretary. He wondered if it was pride on the archangel's part, or just plain laziness; either way, he'd have to remember to rib the angel about it next time he saw him.

"I'm afraid so," she said. "I'd be glad to take a message for you, though."

"No," Crowley said, a frown creasing his brow. "It's a... matter than can only be addressed in person, I'm afraid." He paused a beat, then his expression melted into a grin. "But maybe you can help me."

For every once of wile poured into his smile, the look Dobiel gave him as equally as sweet. "How's that, Mister Crowley?"

"Do you know if Gabriel has any... ongoing business in the area?"

She tilted her head, a few wisps of blond hair that had fallen out of her businesslike bun curling around her face. "You know, no one's ever tried to use me to find out Gabriel's business before. I'm just not sure what to do." Behind her silver-rimmed glasses, her eyes were dancing.

Damn angels. The snarkiest ones always came with the most unlikely demeanors.

"I'm not sure when he'll be back, Mister Crowley," she continued, "but you can wait if you wish. Do have a seat. Can I get you some tea?"

"Coffee," the demon responded automatically, taking a seat on the dull beige couch that faced her desk. "Black."

The hem of her skirt swished around shapely calves as she wandered into the next room. She returned, and handed him a styrofoam cup.

"Be careful," she said. "It's hot." Crowley couldn't decide if the comment was fussy or lewd, but she returned to her place behind her desk without giving any hint either way.

Because, really, it would be stupid to continue on with this game after Michael's explicit warning. But then, Crowley never could resist a challenge.

Dobiel didn't look up from her monitor when he went about straightening his cuff in just such a way that it exposed a pale, perfect stretch of his wrist; nor did she notice his furtive glances over the top of his sunglasses. She didn't even react when he stretched alluringly. Clearly, Gabriel's second-in-command had far too much in common with her stuffy superior.

"It must be awfully distracting," he said when he'd failed to be.

The rapid ticks of her typing stopped abruptly, and she finally looked up. "Pardon?"

"For the mortals, I mean," he said, indicating the other offices in the firm outside their glass door, which proclaimed 'G. Engel, CPA' in gold lettering. "Having you about the place. Angels have a habit of being attractive, of course, but _you_... I can't imagine even Gabriel gets any work done with you sitting out here."

She gave him a coy little smile. "Mister Crowley, is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"

Crowley had gotten to his feet and, sauntering over to her desk, shrugged casually. "Because you should be flattered." He leaned over the desk, looking at her thoughtfully; without warning, he reached out to slide the glasses from her face. "Lovely eyes..."

Her smile remained, and Crowley thought that it looked to be a very promising smile. Dobiel rose, coming around the desk. Her high heeled shoes clicked methodically. She returned the favor, taking off his sunglasses; normally Crowley would have been anxious about the removal of the shield of his glasses, but he liked what he saw when their eyes met, and didn't complain. In their proximity, he let one hand stray to her hip.

"One could say the same about you, Mister Crowley," she all but purred.

"Is there a particular reason you're trying to flatter me?"

"You started it," she said, and he grinned once, snakelike, before kissing her.

With his free hand, he found the hem of her skirt, following it up her leg until her stocking ended about mid-thigh and his fingers brushed bare skin. Dobiel reacted agreeably, hooking her leg around his. He shifted until they were leaning against the desk, pressing against her with obvious interest. Her breasts pressed into him - an asset none of the other angels had had, come to think of it.

"Do you have some kind of protection?" Crowley muttered against her mouth. She pulled back, giving him a bit of an odd look. He grinned. "You know, in case Gabriel comes back."

Dobiel smiled, breaking away from him to lead him over to the couch; and he'd thought the furniture had looked so lackluster earlier. She settled back, catching his tie to pull him down against her. "He won't come back," she said, and kissed him again. Crowley let his hands wander up her thighs again, finding that the bare skin above her stockings continued up.

Now _that_ was something she hadn't learned from Gabriel. "Why you minx," he muttered playfully against her cleavage, grinning.

She gave him a pointed look and undid his trousers, revealing the clear lack of black silk boxers beneath. He grinned.

"You caught me. I'm a minx, too."

He simply pressed against her at first, the delicate material of her skirt exquisite against his erect cock.

It was stupid, yes, but his reptilian instincts were all for it.

When he entered her, it was inch by inch into wet, welcoming warmth, and Crowley groaned at the aching pleasure of his erection being so engulfed in her. He was loathe to pull away again, but the desire pounding through his veins forced his movement, his hips thrusting, as he sought to bury himself even deeper in that soft sensation. His pace quickly became frantic, though she seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

He wondered vaguely what Gabriel would do if he walked in on the Serpent shagging his second-in-command. He knew the visions he was having of a threesome were very likely unrealistic, but the image of a Crowley sandwich was enough to push him over the edge, and he came with the angel tight around him, grasping her hips.

"Dear Someone," he breathed, resting his head against the arm of the couch.

Dobiel smiled sweetly. "I'll just give Gabriel your regards, shall I?"


	11. Day 11

"Finally."

Crowley started, nearly stumbling as he entered his flat. Serpentine eyes snapped up to the slim figure seated in a sleek black arm chair. "Gabriel?" How the fuck hadn't he noticed an _archangel_ in his living room?

"Indeed. Now do take off your trousers, won't you?"

The demon didn't move, and continued to stare at the angel. "Angel, if this is your idea of flirting..."

Gabriel looked thoroughly unamused. "Don't delay this unnecessarily, demon. Surely you've realized the pattern by now."

Crowley shifted, hoping that the archangel didn't notice how his clipped, pompous tone seemed to be working just fine in terms of this seduction. Fuck. Must have become some kind of conditioned response to the presence of an angel.

"Pattern? So..." But Gabriel had already gotten to his feet, stripped off the jacket of his gray suit, and was making his way unerringly toward Crowley's bedroom. "Wait, angel."

Gabriel turned, arching a brow.

"Do you... want a drink or something?"

Apparently he didn't. Crowley followed the angel into his bedroom, only to find that Gabriel was already unbuttoning his collared shirt.

"So... no witty banter? This is it?"

"I don't have all day, demon."

"You could at least stop calling me 'demon'."

Gabriel glanced up at him, his expression sober, then turned back to his last few buttons.

"And they say romance is dead," Crowley muttered, and settled on the bed. Gabriel looked up again, and this time, he saw something significant in the previously deadpan gaze. Crowley shifted, catching the angel's hand just as Gabriel was about to shrug out of his shirt. "Wait."

"Yes?"

"Maybe..." It was painful, really, even to think this while looking at the angel's chiseled expression, framed by dark hair, with that hint of smooth, pale abdomen revealed by his open shirt, but Crowley forced himself to say it. "Maybe we could just talk. Or something."

"You want to talk?"

_Fuck, no._"Yeah."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed on the demon, but he nodded finally, and Crowley settled back, seated up against the headboard. Gabriel followed suit. "So," the angel said, "what did you want to talk about, exactly?"

"I don't know, just... seen any good films lately?"

Gabriel's expression was as dry as a beach towel in Hell.

"Right. So... "

"What made you stop me?" the angel asked abruptly. The question surprised Crowley, though Gabriel was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Well, I... I mean, you obviously. Didn't want to."

"And that mattered to you?"

"Well, of course it did, Gabriel," Crowley snapped. "I'm a demon, not a - Look, why have you suddenly got time for this when you were looking to wrap this up in two minutes before, anyway?"

Against all odds, Gabriel smiled.

This only made Crowley frown. "Wait... is that what this is about? I just had to refuse one of you?" Gabriel was silent. "It's not lust, so it's closer to love, is that it?"

"He can be taught," Gabriel muttered. He still did not meet Crowley's eyes; Crowley studied the angel's profile intently.

"But there must be more to it than that," the demon said. "You were all involved. It must have been something bigger if you were all involved..."

"Perhaps."

"Don't tell me. It's ineffable, right?"

Gabriel looked at the demon. Though his expression had returned to its usual neutral mask, his blue eyes were bright. "I think you could probably get to the bottom of it. If you're ready."

"If I'm ready. What sort of help is that? 'If you're ready,'" Crowley grumbled. "So I was supposed to learn something from all of this?"

The archangel shrugged unhelpfully.

Crowley muttered a string of choice curses before making a mental list of all his... encounters. "Well, Aziraphale started it."

"Your opposition."

"Right..." Crowley agreed vaguely. "He challenged me."

"And?"

"And that led me to Raphael..."

Gabriel made a noise of assent.

"Best massage I've ever had, by the way," Crowley added slyly. He was looking for a rise out of the solemn archangel, but mostly stalling for time. What had he learned during that massage? "I didn't know an angel could be so... thorough." He grinned. "Is that it? Touch, involving the whole body?"

The angel raised both eyebrows. Crowley took it as a sign of encouragement.

"And Raguel was the importance of the other senses. And Sariel..." He paused, eyes narrowed in thought. "Sariel was seeking out new sensations, new sensual experience."

Crowley noticed the corner of Gabriel's mouth twitching and continued. "Haniel was the voice, of course," he said, shuddering with the memory. "How important just words can be. Jeliel must be something about... being willing to get dirty."

Gabriel said nothing during this process, but was watching him in an almost interested fashion as Crowley continued to put together the pieces. "Remiel was the importance of bonding over common interest, and Michael was bondage, of course. Dominance and submission, and a hint of danger to make things more fun. Jophiel was honesty and secrets, each adding to the excitement in their own way. And Dobiel was," he grinned, "dressing for the occasion."

He looked at the angel, awaiting confirmation. "Am I close? I'm close, aren't I?"

Gabriel laughed.

Crowley's smug expression promptly fell into a look of confusion. Here he was, puzzling out the angels' motives, and the Messenger was practically doubled over in mirth.

"Honestly, Crowley," the angel managed, breathless, "you think we disrupted the entire angelic hierarchy just to teach _you_ to be a better lover?"

Crowley bristled a bit. It didn't sound _that_ ridiculous... did it? Shit.

"Well... what is it, then?" he demanded, sounding peevish even to his own ears.

Gabriel shook his head, still chuckling to himself. "I can't tell you that, Crowley. I told you, when you're ready..." He was standing now. Crowley noticed that the angel's shirt has suddenly righted itself.

"Wait. Where are you going?" the demon asked.

Gabriel smiled at him, not unkindly, until helplessly giving in to another bout of laughter. "I don't have all day..." And with that, the Messenger had left his bedroom and was gone.

"Fucking _hilarious_..."


	12. Day 12

The Bentley screeched to a halt in front of the bookshop and the yellow lines on the curb curled away dutifully. Crowley wasn't even sure he'd done it this time. Maybe they'd just gotten used to it.

At any rate, it was a smug and energetic demon who threw open the closed, locked, and dead-bolted door to Mr. Fell's Children's Book Emporium and marched into the back room.

"And I think you have something you wanted to say to me, Aziraph…"

Aziraphale wasn't alone. Sitting in the small kitchenette in Crowley's usual chair was a brunet wearing the exact suit and fedora that the demon had imagined almost a week earlier when he'd heard that voice on the phone. The archangel's bright blue eye twinkled up at him. The… other one was covered by the brim of the hat. Crowley was grateful for small favours.

"Hey!" exclaimed Haniel. "What's the story, morning glory?"

He was doing that voice thing again. Crowley's knees went weak and he collapsed into a chair that Aziraphale only just had time enough to produce.

"I, uh," this was not as confident as he'd hoped to sound. He crossed his legs uncomfortably. Aziraphale was just smiling at him, which didn't help. "I figured it out. And since Aziraphale and I had an agreement…"

"Did you, my dear?" Aziraphale interrupted. "Haniel and I were just discussing how long that might take."

Crowley growled. "You're both bastards, you know that? But I worked it out. I rejected Gabriel."

Aziraphale paled. "You got all the way to Gabriel?!"

Haniel just laughed. "All right, Mr. Abercrombie. I'll bite. What's the scoop?

The serpent leaned back in his chair, considering what to say. "At first I thought it was all about the sex. Like being cock-teased for a couple of days makes the blow job even better when you finally do come. Role-playing, toys, erotic touch, using all your senses, all those kinds of things."

Haniel nodded, unphased. But Aziraphale was growing steadily more red as a flush crawled up his fair, round face.

"I mean, taking Jeliel there in the dirt, just sliding right inside like he'd been waiting for me, or Jophiel filling me, claiming me completely across his desk for all the world to see, I felt like…"

There was a pained squeak and demon and archangel turned to look at Aziraphale who was gulping scalding tea. "Can… can we move on, if you please?"

Crowley smirked. "You don't know what you're missing."

There was a prudish angelic glare. "I won't be tempted by the likes of _you_."

"All right, fine… So, I figured the lessons in being a better lover were just sort of pleasant side-effects. The whole Host wouldn't work together to teach me to be a good lay." Actually, he still sort of suspected that they would, but Gabriel had shook his head, so Crowley didn't bring it up here. "I sat around a while and thought about it," with a good bottle of wine, "and figured it all out. This whole little challenge thing was about love, not sex, so there had to be deeper meanings there. I worked them out, too. Love, and by extension, sex, is about paying attention to your partner's needs and wants, having things in common; it's about giving and sharing and communicating and shit like that. So you were able to use sex to give me my true lesson and now that I've figured it out, Aziraphale has to call me a master tempter."

"But…" began Aziraphale.

And then Haniel was laughing. The sound echoed through Crowley's ears, reaching down to the base of his brain and flipping every lever marked 'turn-on'. He squirmed in his seat until the Lover finally stopped.

"You're a card, sunshine. A real genius. But that's not what love's about. You're gumming the works with all that modern relationship nonsense. Those things are swell, boyo, but they're not love."

Crowley hit the table, rattling the tea cups in their saucers. "Dammit! Then are you going to tell me or not?" he demanded. "Because I'm fine with sleeping around more if that's what it takes. I'll do a hundred angels - a thousand – until I get this!"

Aziraphale went white just for contrast.

Haniel's expression went blank. "You mean that, kid?"

"Yes, I bloody well mean it!"

The archangel gave Crowley a searching look, normal blue eye glancing across the sharp planes of the demon's face before Haniel slowly tilted his fedora up to reveal the dark eye underneath. It was solid black, with no pupil, or if there was one, no one could tell where it began. Light and dark, joy and despair; there were two sides to love. It could be the best feeling in the world and it could cause the worst destruction. Haniel, the physical representation of that force, could be both, and Crowley quailed as the Lover _looked_ at him.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, Haniel tipped his hat back over his eye and smiled gently.

"Love," he said without preamble, "is simply caring about another person's feelings as much as you care about your own. It is no more or less than that."

"That's too simple," Crowley protested.

"Why didn't you sleep with Gabriel?" Haniel retorted.

Crowley rolled his eyes. He'd been over this before. "He obviously didn't want to. I'm not a rapist."

Aziraphale murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, "You could have fooled me." Haniel and Crowley ignored him, locked in a steady gaze.

"Did you want to?"

"Of course I fucking wanted to!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Crowley…"

"Then that was an act of love."

The demon froze. He spoke very carefully as if the words could hurt him. "I'm… in love… with the Snob?"

"I doubt it," Haniel chuckled. "Being 'in love', that is, specific romantic love, is caring about one person's feelings as much as your own and above anyone else's. Do you care about Gabriel's feelings more than, say, Aziraphale's here?"

"No."

"Then you're aces, kiddo. That's all there is to it."

"No," said Crowley again. "That's not all there is to it. What was all this business with demons not able to understand if it's that simple? Why was half the Host lined up to fuck me, besides the obvious?"

Haniel sighed. "We set you up to take the fall. We made you the patsy. That what you want to hear? Aziraphale kept telling us that if any crumb could get it, it'd be you. You think the rest of your fink pals could understand? When have those pills ever given a flip about anyone other than themselves? But you cared. And you proved it. This is going to sound off the cob, but you're the butter and egg man. We're sorry we had to chisel you to get the bulge, but the filly's still got her sword, you know."

It took a while for Crowley to decipher the seventy year old slang. His forehead creased in concentration as he translated it mentally "So you're telling me this was all to get an advantage for Heaven in the War? To find out if demons could actually feel love?"

"You shred it, wheat," said the Lover unrepentantly. "Seems you can."

"You could have just bloody well asked," the serpent muttered. "What are you going to do now? Try to seduce the whole Horde?"

"All right," interrupted Aziraphale. "That's enough of that kind of talk. Now who's for some more tea?"

"Hit me, Joe."

Crowley's cock twitched and the demon sighed. "Just, you know, out of sheer curiosity… What's Gabriel's kink? What did I miss out on?"

"Wings," Haniel grinned.

Crowley's head hit the table with a loud thump. "_Fuuuuuuuck_."


End file.
